


A Study In Khan

by princessackles



Category: Sherlock (TV), Star Trek
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-13 10:32:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1223062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessackles/pseuds/princessackles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Well, if you're so perfect, why are you allowing it? It's because of emotions, isn't it? And emotions make you imperfect," For a moment, she feared that Khan would kill her. He looked like he certainly could, his figure towering above hers. But Molly can fix him. She knows she can. She can fix Khan Noonien Singh. He isn't as emotionless as he believes. Molly Hooper/Khan</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, some of you might know this story from FF.net. I've decided to move it over here, and to my new profile over there, FF.net. Please don't give me hate for stealing it or something, because it is really mine, I promise.

...  
Molly Hooper ran her hand through her hair, working her way through the snarls that her fingers ran into. It had been a long day at work, especially since she hadn't been able to get anyone to help her all day. Besides that, there had been two murders this week, and according to Lestrade, the bodies needed to be examined before Wednesday, which was tomorrow. Her footsteps were quick on the tile floors, and seemed to be impossibly loud in the silence of the empty morgue. She was about to lock the door to her office when she heard the slamming of a door. Her pulse quickened, and she paused, her hand positioned on the doorknob to her office. She sucked in a breath, listening. When she heard nothing, she pressed her head to the door, releasing the breath she had been holding. "You're losing it Molly," She whispered, a half laugh escaping. 

Then she heard footsteps.

"Stephen?" She questioned, pulling herself away from the door, and walking to the nearby corner. Her heart beat fast in her ribcage, her breath was quick, and she struggled to quiet it. Several moments of silence passed, which did nothing to calm her nerves. "Hello? Who's there?" Once again only silence answered her question. She wasn't imaging it this time. She knew she wasn't. _'Get out of there' _whispered her instincts, and she obeyed. She moved down the hall towards the doors.__

It was then that a horrible scent reached her nose.

She could smell smoke.

She sucked in a breath, trying to sooth her nerves. _'Just get out Molly,' _she told herself. _'Get out and then call 999.' _Her pace quickened and she moved towards the staircase that would take her downstairs, where she could get out. When she reached the stairs she was met with orange flames climbing up them.____

Already, the smoke was thickening, hanging on the roof. It was getting hard to breath as she hurried in the opposite direction. When she was halfway to her office someone grabbed her wrist and pulled. 

Molly was all too aware that the man could be the possible arsonist/murderer, but at the moment he was pulling her out of the building, and she followed him. Only halfway through the building did she realize-the man looked exactly like Sherlock.  
...  
Khan woke, a heavy weight pressing on his ribcage. He stood, trying to breath through the thin layer of smoke that lined the ceiling, and in turn, his lungs. He took two large breaths, allowing himself to think through the haze that covered his mind.

Footsteps were the first thing he focused on. The footsteps were coming from outside the room, loud and clipped, like the person was running-a woman, judging from the sound of heels.

As he approached the sound of the footsteps, he was met with what he expected-a woman. The woman though, incited in him something he hadn't expected. She was strikingly beautiful, a classic beauty that was hard to come by. She stood just a little over 5 feet, her stature lithe. Her hair was pushed over her right shoulder, slightly messed up and tangled. She wore no makeup, which made her slightly vulnerable, and all too human, but in a way, more beautiful. Panic lined her face, but with a hint of stubbornness as she made her way down the hall.

It was obvious that she hadn't seen him yet, since he was standing in a darkened doorway. He gripped her wrist, pulling her roughly behind him. She stumbled at first, but followed after a moment. He wasn't sure where he was going yet, but he did know that getting out was a priority at this moment. The first and one of the only ways he saw out was a second story window. He would survive the fall, but he wasn't sure that the smaller woman would. Right at this moment though, he wasn't sure that there were any other options, and so he pulled her out of the window after him.

Glass shattered, and cut into his skin, and as they fell from the third story window, Khan wrapped his arms around an unconscious Molly Hooper.


	2. Chapter 2

Molly woke up on a dirty couch. She smelled like smoke, and her lab coat had a dirty grey quality. Her whole body ached, and red scrapes and minor cuts littered her arms and face. Her eyes hurt, like they had too much dust inside them. She sat upright, realizing what had happened the night before. She was in a basement, with only two couches, a cold cement floor and ugly mustard walls.

"You're awake," Remarked Sherlock from a couch opposite her own.

"And you're alive, Sherlock," She said, relief lacing her voice. Of course, she'd known he was alive for three years now. She had helped him with the fall, helped him fake his death, and she had kept the secret from everyone. Her boyfriend, John, Lestrade, Anderson, the press, everyone. But now, looking at him, sitting across from her, arms crossed and pressed against his chest, she felt a sense of relief.

"I am Khan Noonien Singh," Announced what was apparently the Sherlock look-a-like. He said it in a bored tone, like he had announced it thousands of times, and if he was anything like Sherlock, he probably had.

"How come you look like Sherlock then?" She said, trying to make her tone even. "And talk like him, and walk like him, and act like him?" All of the relief had fled, just as it had filled her just moments before. This wasn't Sherlock, and now she was being held captive by this man, who was probably going to kill her, or worse.

"I have no idea who you are referring to," Khan Noonien Singh growled, a smirk on his face, that didn't match the tone of his voice. "But I assure you, I am not...Sherlock."

The disgust put into Sherlock's name made Molly sick. This man, who was an identical copy of Sherlock, had put every shred of hate and disgust into a single word. He made Sherlock sound so human-so ordinary-which wasn't Sherlock at all, and it hurt like a slap across her face. "Well, _Khan Noonien Singh, _" She said, putting all her hate and disgust into his name. "What makes you so much better than Sherlock?"__

__He stood, towering over her. "I am better at everything," He snarled. "I am perfect."_ _

__"And that's exactly what Sherlock would say," She said, making her shaking legs support her weight as she stood. She wasn't going to let this man insult one of the best men that she had ever met, and she certainly wasn't going to die without showing that she could fight._ _

__"It would be an incorrect statement," Khan said simply, inches away from her face._ _

__"Maybe it would," She snarled. "But no human can be perfect, so your statement would be just as incorrect."_ _

__"You will mind your tone," He snarled back. This time Molly was painfully aware at the close proximity that Khan was. His body was nearly pressing against hers, and their faces were centimeters apart. "You are my prisoner. You are alive because I allow it."_ _

__Molly stood, speechless for a moment, thinking of a comeback. "Well, if you're so perfect, why are you allowing it? It's because of emotions, isn't it? And emotions make you imperfect," For a moment, she feared that Khan would kill her. He looked like he certainly could, his figure towering above hers, his powerful hands in fists at his side._ _

__Seconds later, those powerful hands had pinned her against the wall, cutting off her air supply. Only one hand strangled her, the other pressed against her arm, just below her shoulder. She could feel the bones bend underneath his grasp, and she struggled to breath. "You will not insult me again." She didn't offer a response, she only struggled against his grasp. He pressed his body closer against hers, and pressed both hands down harder. She felt her arm break, and she bit back tears. She nodded desperately, wanting air, and for his hand to come off her now broken arm._ _

__He released her, watching with an expression of satisfaction as she slid down the wall, sucking in desperate breaths and trying to bite back tears. Every breath was shaky, and waves of pain nearly blinded her._ _

__"I can kill you anytime I wish." He announced it as if he was proud of the fact. "Your only purpose is entertainment. If you continue to fight me, you will no longer serve any purpose." With that, he turned and strode out of the room, locking the door behind him as he went._ _


	3. Chapter 3

Molly slept for a few hours before waking on the old couch. She stood, and assessed the situation as best she could, trying to look at it the way Sherlock would see it. The room she was in was old, the ceiling sagged, and looked as if there was significant water damage. As to why _perfect _Khan had chosen a less than perfect building, Molly had no idea. Although Molly had been busy lately, she didn't remember Khan being a wanted a criminal or anything of that sort.__

She wandered around the room, scanning it for possible escape routes. There was no window, which meant that plan A wasn't any good. 

She sighed. _'When in doubt, try the door,'_

Molly moved to the old wooden door, which was the only entrance and exit to the room. It was up two dusty wooden steps, and Molly nearly fell through the second one. Regaining her balance, she ran her fingers along the door, checking the sturdiness of the edges first, and then the middle of the door, and finally, out of desperateness, the doorknob. She shook it and turned it, finally giving up. She ran a hand through her messy hair-and only then remembered-she had hairpins. Hadn't Sherlock picked a lock with one of her hairpins once? 

She pulled a hairpin out of her pocked and pushed it into the keyhole, wiggling the hairpin around. There came a snapping sound, and Molly pulled out a broken hairpin

Molly had just stepped back from the door, muttering under her breath in a frustrated manner when the door swung open. Out of surprise, Molly stumbled down the steps, only just catching herself on the wall. She groaned as a shot of pain went through her arm. 

"There is no point in trying to escape," Informed Khan simply. She couldn't miss the amusement that was evident in Khan's eyes. A shadow of a smile darted over his face. 

"Yeah, figuring that out now," She said, still breathless, and leaning over in pain. She slid down against the wall, trying to avoid passing out. Spots danced in and out of her vision. 

"Is there anything you need?" He inquired, taking a step further into the room. Even so, his tall, muscular figure was blocking the door. The amusement was gone, and concern seemed to be evident. "Some pain killers would be nice." She said, allowing herself a half grin. "And maybe a cuppa. And while your at it...maybe you could let me go?" 

"What makes you believe the final one is an option?" He inquired, this time a real smile darting over his face just for a moment. He tilted his head at her slightly before stepping further into the room, shutting the door behind him. Molly had not doubt that it was still locked, and decided not to try it. 

"Well, there aren't many people that save someone from a burning building, just to kidnap me, now are there?" She said, standing upright, and moving out of his way as he walked toward the couch. The spots were gone, but the pain remained, and Molly had to take deep even breaths to keep herself from crying. 

He walked over to the couch, swinging the door shut behind him. "You have questions," He asked-no-not asked-stated. 

"Yes," She said quickly, seizing the chance to ask questions. "Why did you save me, then kidnap me? Why me? Who are you?" 

"I saved you because I had a moment of weakness," Khan stated simply, as if he wouldn't of saved her otherwise. "At the moment, you serve sufficient entertainment. In the near future, there will come a need for assistance, or possibly leverage, you will become quite useful then." 

"Le-" Khan held up a hand to stop Molly's sentence, and so she just mumbled, "Okay," Underneath her breath. 

"I am Khan Noonien Singh, as I previously stated. I am going to assume you did not mean by name, and you meant my purpose. I am in a very delicate time period, that I should not be in. I would prefer to leave things intact, but if the need for violence arises, I will not hesitate to take that route. I will do anything to get back to the time I was in. I had pressing matters at that moment-what is happening now is rather inconvenient." 

Khan paused, making sure Molly was satisfied. She nodded in response, even though she was far from believing him. She liked listening to him talk though-the rich baritone voice seemed to deadpan most of the time, yet it still seemed as though he was conveying emotion with every word. He had a formal air about him, which made his voice seem even more interesting. 

"You," He said finally, standing and staring her in the eyes. "Are nothing compared to me. I owe you nothing. You are as important as the dust under my feet." He turned, and started towards the door. 

"That's not true," Said Molly calmly. "Everyone's important, even when they're compared to you. You gave me reasons why I'm important to you, and you're here, asking me what I need and answering my questions. That means you care-even if it's just a little." 

Khan turned to face her, and she was worried that he'd lash out. But he didn't. He looked at her as if he was waiting for her to explain. "And I suppose you'd know human emotions so well." 

"I had a friend like you once," Molly said, not backing down. "He's dead now." Khan raised an eyebrow, as if he didn't think this was the way to start a conversation-in fact it was nearly the same reaction Sherlock had. "But he always acted arrogant, and as if he didn't care about anyone in the world. He acted...emotionless. But, if you really noticed, he would look sad when he thought...no one...could see him. Sometimes there were glimmers of amusement, or anger, or sometimes even happiness, but mostly sadness. And it took me a long time to figure out why he looked sad. But I figured out. He knew he was going to lose something important to him-and it was almost as if he had already lost it. He was saving himself from hurting." 

Khan looked angry again, but he remained still, his eyes flashing. 

"So what did you lose? What are you losing? It must be something important, for you to be this way," She said quietly. "You've numbed yourself to emotions, because they can only hurt you." She shook her head. "But you still feel them sometimes, and when you think no one is looking you let them out, just a little. Because that's the thing about emotions. You can never completely get rid of them." 

"You know nothing of me, or what I am going through." Khan said stiffly. 

"But I think I do!" She protested, her voice rising a little. He was quiet, looking at her, waiting for her explanation. As to why he hadn't lashed out yet, she wasn't sure. "It's family isn't it?" She said finally. "Friends can hurt you...but only when it's family...or someone who's close enough to family, do you really block everything out." 

Khan was quiet, and she expected him to lash out, or be violent in some way. She certainly didn't expect him to explain himself, and he didn't. Instead he stood there, completely still. 

"My mum, she left us when I was ten." She swallowed hard. "My dad, he did his best, but my sister, she was fifteen, she was closer to my mom than I was. She killed herself three months after my mum left. My dad, he started drinking, and he got fired because of it. We didn't have a good relationship." She paused, watching Khan's face. "I left him when I turned eighteen. My mum hurt him and my sister hurt him, and I hurt him, and he just--I guess he just blocked it all out." 

She watched Khan, studying his stiff movements and his cold expression. He turned, and walked to the door. 

"I'm sorry," She blurted, causing him to pause at the door. "For whatever you're losing. I'm sorry." 

He didn't turn to look at her, even though she knew that he had heard her. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't a great chapter, and I'm sorry for it. Also, I don't have a medical background, but I did break my arm in the woods once and they had to treat it for me.
> 
> I realize that this isn't a medical background, but we can pretend it is.

A gnawing hunger ate a pit in Molly's stomach. 'Shut up,' she thought at it, turning her head up to stare at the ceiling. Her stomach didn't shut up, and just complained louder. She wished that she had some way of knowing how long she'd been locked up in Khan's basement. Some lingering feeling protested that she was going to starve down here.

'Khan wouldn't let you starve,' whispered the little part of her that had already fallen for Khan. 'He's too human.'

Molly brought her knees up, pressing her legs against her chest and resting her chin on top of her knees. She was sitting with her back against the wall, facing the ugly, dusty couch on the other side of the room. She was bored. Incredibly, boringly, bored. She frowned, and then gnawed on the inside of her cheek, staring at the grimy blue couch. Her eyes scanned the grimy blue couch, trying to pick out a pattern beneath the layers of of dust that had been ground into the coarse fabric.

She had long abandoned her coat and sweater in favor of her thinner tank top, since the basement had become an oven. The two items of clothing sat on the couch, but you would of thought that they had been in the basement as long as the dusty blue couch. Layers of dust and ash clung to the fabric of her clothes, staining them an ugly brown.

The more she thought about her decision to take off the thick shirts the more she realized that she was unpleasantly exposed. There was a certain vulnerability that came along with the comfort of the thinner top. In spite of the heat, Molly shivered, rubbing her broken arm with her good one, feeling her fingers brush against her skin. She bit her lip, glancing towards the door that separated her from Khan.

After about two hours of searching for possible escape routes, Molly had given up, rather discouraged. She had been trying to handle her captivity logically, tried to look at it the way Sherlock would of seen it, but Molly wasn't Sherlock. Not even close. And Khan wasn't stupid. He had been careful to block all possible escape routes. The way she saw it now was as it was. She was Khan's vulnerable, considerably weaker captive, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Lost in her thoughts, she almost didn't notice that Khan had entered the room. She probably wouldn't of noticed if the door hadn't squeaked. Khan himself had been stealthy about entering the room.

Startled out of her thoughts, she glanced towards the door that she was sitting next to and almost scowled.

She probably should of scowled.

Probably would of scowled.

And then she saw what Khan was carrying.

It was a first aid kit, the simple type that they kept at the morgue in case someone cut themselves and needed a band-aid. It was just a white box, a red plus on the side with red handles. She scanned it, and then him, but didn't move.

She didn't even acknowledge him except the turn of her head.

She was supposed to be mad at him.

There was just one problem.

She wasn't mad at him.

He walked past her and sat on the couch, setting the first aid kit next to him on the couch. He didn't say anything, didn't motion to her, didn't even give the darting smile of amusement that he made when he walked in the room. He didn't even look smug. Somehow, the stoic look on his face irritated Molly more than the smug look that he usually carried.

She was not going to acknowledge him first.

Khan seemed fine with that, and he sat completely still, back straight, arms folded across his chest. He looked right at her, staring at her intently. Molly, eventually crumbling under his gaze, shifted her own gaze to her knees, studying her skin intently. Her hair hung in front of her eyes, but every once in a while, against her will, she moved her gaze, just slightly, to look up at him through the strands of her brown hair.

The silence got to Molly first. She brought her hand up through her hair, sweeping it back. She glared at him intently, trying to look somewhat angry. "Did you want something?"

There it was. The amusement darted across Khan's face so quickly that Molly couldn't be sure that it was there at all. He motioned towards the couch, pointing to the space next to him. "Sit," was all he said.

Without thinking, she pushed herself up with her bad hand, and had to bite her lip to keep a scream from escaping. She sunk back down, letting the white spots clear from her eyes.

Khan didn't make any move to help her, not that she expected him to.

Once the pain had faded, she stood and walked to the couch, sitting on the space that he had indicated. He took her broken arm, and she flinched as pain shot up it in waves.

"Careful!" She snapped, trying to hold back tears. They leaked out, against her will, and with her good hand she desperately pushed them away.

Khan seemed genuinely concerned, and tried to move her had even more gently, but it didn't make a difference. Blinding waves of pain pushed their way through her arm, nearly blinding her. Tears kept coming, even though she was trying to keep them back as well as she could.

Khan watched her facial expressions intently, with concern on his face. It softened all his features, even his cheek bones, which someone could of cut themselves on. It even reached his eyes, and nothing ever completely reached his eyes.

"I'm going to make my way up your arm. When I get to a part that hurts more than the rest of your arm, stop me."

She nodded her agreement. She didn't trust herself to speak, and she wasn't even sure she could. The lump in her throat was horrible, and she felt like she might vomit. Khan moved his fingers up her arm, pressing gently. He reached just above her elbow, and a wave of pain nearly made her pass out. She must of choked out a stop, or Khan must of noticed her facial expression, and he stopped.

She did pass out at some point, but when she came to, Khan had just finished wrapping from her elbow up to her shoulder. Something kept her from moving it-a stick or something like it-but he had just wrapped bandages around whatever he had held her arm in place with. She tried to sit up, trying to fill her lungs with air. Nausea won over and she sunk back into the couch.

Khan looked even more concerned now, if possible. He reached out, his hand wrapping around her good arm gently.

"Are you hot?" He asked, glancing towards the discarded coat and sweater.

She swallowed hard, and nodded, still trying to catch her breath, which still hadn't returned. She couldn't fill her lungs with air, and it was starting to cause her to worry.

"Lie down," he ordered, moving off the couch. She didn't protest, and he helped her slide into a comfortable lying position on the couch. He grabbed her jacket and carefully wrapped it around her bare arms.

"'m'hot," She mumbled, trying to shrug off the coat that felt too constricting and warm. Khan ignored her, and she was too weak to pull the coat off on her own. She huffed in irritation, though she wasn't sure it even came out. Her lungs were too tight in her chest. Black edged into her vision, and she fell asleep with Khan's worried face in her vision.

It was a good look on him.

A soft one.

A kind one.


End file.
